


(Un)forgotten Soldier

by shrugheadjonesthethird



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - Vietnam, Camp Bughead Challenge, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I promise, Inspired by Music, Love Letters, No one actually dies in this, Pen Pals, Soldier! Jughead, Travelin' Soldier by the Dixie Chicks, Waitress! Betty, except the end is different
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 05:16:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15260211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shrugheadjonesthethird/pseuds/shrugheadjonesthethird
Summary: Two months after his eighteenth birthday, Forsythe Pendleton Jones, III was drafted to go to war. It didn’t matter that he was the only son. It didn’t matter that he was the only one to continue the Jones name. Every able bodied man was drafted to fight a war no one believed in.ORJughead has been drafted to go into the Army to fight in the Vietnam War. Right before he leaves, he meets Betty Cooper.(Jughead is 18, Betty is 16)





	(Un)forgotten Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> *inspired by Travelin' Soldier by the Dixie Chick, except I changed the ending*
> 
> So, I haven't been doing writing prompts for Camp Bughead because I've been hella busy, but this one kind of ripped out of me. It was intended to only be like, 500 words. Oops.
> 
> Also, a huge thanks to @cacti-evie, @theonlyemmaleigh, and @niknac for their beta help and feedback!

****Written for Camp Bughead Week 2, Day 5: 1960's and 1970's****

 

**_December 1969_ **

Two months after his eighteenth birthday, Forsythe Pendleton Jones, III was drafted to go to war. It didn’t matter that he was the only son. It didn’t matter that he was the only one to continue the Jones name. Every able bodied man was drafted to fight a war no one believed in.

He had only a week to get his affairs in order before shipping off to California for basic training. An officer knocked on his trailer door, handed him his newly issued army greens, told him where to pick up the bus that headed to the base, and left with a salute.

Jughead sighed heavily with the weight of the uniform in his hands, the newly embroidered  _ Jones _ glaring up at him. He left the uniform in a neat pile on the kitchen table for four days before he had worked up the courage to put it on. He knew once he did, it would become more real than it already was.

He walked to Pop’s, knowing it may be the final time he ever gets to indulge himself, but when he arrived, his appetite was gone. He sat in a booth anyway. He produced a black leather notebook from his inside breast pocket and began to write. A beautiful blonde girl, hair tied back  with ribbon, approached him. Their eyes met and he offered a shy smile.

“What can I get ya, soldier?”

“Black coffee, please.” Jughead said quietly. He was lost in his own thoughts, scared of what war would bring his way, scared of being forgotten.

The waitress returned, coffee in hand. She offered him a smile, bright as the sun, in hopes to lighten his grave expression. “Somethin’ else?”

Her smile brought him out of his reverie. His voice was quiet, sad. “No thanks, uhh” He was searching for her name.

“Betty,” she chirped, the smile still playing on her lips. She left him to his writing, keeping an eye on him as she refilled the napkin holder and rearranged coffee mugs. He wrote fervently turning onto a new crisp page after only a few minutes. 

She approached him again, this time with the fresh pot of coffee. She lifted the pot into his line of sight and he smiled again. 

“Whatcha workin’ on?” Betty asked, her smile never faltering.

“Just uh--I write sometimes, to get out of my head, I guess.”

“May I?” Betty asked placing the pot of coffee on the table top. 

“I-uh-I don’t usually let people--”

“Oh,” she cut him off. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have asked anyhow. It’s none of my business.”

“No, no.” Although he was anxious about sharing his work, there was something about the twinkle in Betty’s eye, a genuine curiosity, a genuine concern, that made him want to show her. He slid the notebook to the empty space in front of him.

She looked around the diner, no other patrons in sight as she took a seat and began thumbing the pages, reading over his bold handwriting. Her face lit up.

“This is really good.You’re incredibly talented.” Betty said with a blush across her cheeks. “I’ve been meaning to read more, and this is definitely something I’d read.”

“Betty, would you mind stayin’ for a while and talkin’ to me? I’m feelin’ a little low.” He needed someone, he didn’t care if it was a stranger from the diner.

“I’m off in an hour. I know where we can go.” Betty wasn’t entirely sure what prompted her to respond that way, but she felt a pull at her heartstrings from the sincerity and vulnerability in his voice, in his baby blues.

“I’m Jughead,” he offered as she was turning to walk away. She looked back over her shoulder and smiled.

The hour left of Betty’s shift was quiet, hardly anyone coming into the diner. She hung up her apron and waved goodbye to Pop Tate before she approached Jughead again.

“Still want to talk?” Jughead simply nodded and stood from his seat. He followed her out of the building and walked toward Sweetwater River. They meandered their way through the forest in a comfortable silence until they reached a secluded pier jutting into the unusual calm of the river. They walked to the end and sat, their legs dangling over the edge.

“What’s got you so down?” Betty asked, the sincerity in her voice clear as day. She’d met soldiers before, those going off to Vietnam, leaving behind their families, children, their lives, not knowing if they’d be waiting when they returned. He was different.  She’d only just met Jughead, but she could feel the fear radiating off of him.

He turned to her slowly, his fingers gripping the edge of the pier. “I betcha got a boyfriend, but I don’t care. I got no one to send a letter to. Do you mind if I send one back here, to you? You said you wanted to read more, maybe this could be your more?”

“Oh,” Betty had not expected the near stranger to ask this. “No boyfriend,” she whispered. Jughead’s head sprang up in disbelief.

Betty was beautiful, long blonde hair pulled back, secured with a perfectly tied bow, long, toned legs that seemed to extend for days. But for Jughead it was her eyes, the sparkle in the clearest green eyes he’d ever seen. They drew him in nearly in a trance, how else could he explain his sudden brazen questions? He had never been so forward with anyone, let alone a woman. He was captivated, but it seemed that she was, too.

Betty leaned over and placed a small kiss on his cheek. They each blushed, cheeks painted pink from the newness of it all. She turned and rummaged through her purse, grabbing a pen and paper and neatly penning her address for him.

“I don’t believe that you’ve got no one,” Betty insisted.

“Just my old man. Other than that, not a soul,” he sighed. He tucked the paper into his right breast pocket for safe keeping and stared out onto the river.

Betty leaned her head to his shoulder in comfort, solidarity. If he wanted her to be his person back home, then she would be. She knew nothing about him, but she wanted to, and hoped, one day she would. After a while, she removed her head from his shoulder and looked up at him contently.

They talked about their lives, what led them to that exact moment. He told her of his fear of being lost and forgotten while fighting in the war, the same way he’d felt lost and forgotten his entire life. She promised to never let that happen. They spoke of their hobbies, their dreams. They packed a lifetime into only a few hours.

In the end, Jughead decided his first dream was to come home to Betty safe and sound—he’d figure it out from there.

\--

Betty watched as Jughead joined the cue to get onto the bus in front of the diner.

“Jughead, wait!” Betty called out as she ran to his side. She reached onto her tiptoes and planted her lips firmly against his. “Come home soon.”

\--

The first letter arrived a week later.

“Elizabeth! Why, pray tell, are you receiving a letter from an army base in California. Who do you know there?” The shrill voice of Alice Cooper rang from the bottom of the stairs. She hurried down to meet her mother and snatched the letter from her hands. Betty didn’t respond to a word her mother said. She ran back up the stairs and locked the door behind her.

She read and reread the letter, memorizing the curvature of his handwriting, committing it to memory. He detailed his bus ride from New York to California, of the people he’d met so far and how awful the heat of California was. It was mundane at best, but it was all they had.

_ I know I just left, but I hope to come home soon. Is it strange that I miss you already? Best, Jughead. _

The words reverberated in her head. They mirrored the thoughts that had bounced in her head since she kissed him as he left. They’d spent one day together, but she’d never felt closer to anyone. They’d bared their souls to one another on the pier. She sat at her vanity to pen him a letter in return, hoping it would find him well.

She wrote of how dreadfully boring home had been, how uninterested she was in school beginning again but thankful that it would be one more year in high school. She prayed for his safe return home in hopes they could spend more time together.

They wrote each other back and forth for months. Eventually, the postmark was no longer from California, but air mail from Vietnam. The letters were coming nearly twice a week. In early summer, she received another letter.

_ \-- _

_ My darling Betty, _

_ I was hoping to be coming home soon, but I’m afraid we’re in too deep in Vietnam. I’m unsure how often I’ll be able to write, but I will as often as I can. I am petrified that I will not make it home to you. _

_ I know we’ve only spent one physical day together, but I need you to know that I think I’ve fallen hopelessly in love with you. Your letters and photo have given me the brightest light to get out of here—to get home to you—alive. I hope that’s okay. _

_ When it gets rough over here, when I’m knee deep in swamp water, filthy and starving, I think of that day sitting down at the pier and I close my eyes and see your beautiful smile. I can almost feel your head on my shoulder when I do. _

_ I hope you know what you’ve done for me, Betty. I will never forget it, even if you forget me. _

_ I love you. _

_ Jughead. _

_ \-- _

Betty squealed to herself. Jughead loved her? She had felt something in her bones for weeks now, an unfamiliar feeling, one she’d never had before—maybe it was love. She was quick to respond her returned love for him, how she missed him terribly, how she could never forget him, hoped he’d be home soon, home safe.

She stared at the photograph he’d sent of himself in California wedged in the frame of her mirror. She wasn’t religious by any means, but she made a point to pray every day for his safe arrival home.

\--

The next letter didn’t come for a month, but when it did, Betty felt her heart squeeze in her chest. She’d been so worried about him, how he was fairing overseas. He detailed the horrible conditions, how miserable he was, how  _ tired _ he was. How he couldn’t wait to come home and take her on a proper date and make up for the time they’d missed together.

Her heart wrenched in her chest at the thought.

\--

**_April 1973_ **

Three years. Betty had waited three years for news of Jughead’s return. She’d graduated high school, was nearly finished with junior college, too afraid to leave home, so she wouldn’t miss his homecoming. She waited for him, like she promised she would.

“Elizabeth, you cannot wait for him forever. He probably won’t even come home.” Alice spat, completely fed up with her daughter’s ideation of romance and love with a soldier overseas.

“Do not. He’s going to come home to me, mother. I know he will.”

Betty knew there was a distinct possibility he may not make it home, but she could not allow herself to think of it. Her heart pounded in her chest at the thought of missing out on more time, on losing love that never had time to properly blossom.

It had been nearly two months since his last letter. Betty reread the stacks of paper she could not bear to discard. They were all she had of him.

She watched as crowds gathered around the bus stop, the first of many to bring home soldiers. Women waiting for their husbands, children waiting for their fathers. Betty watched longingly from the diner, hoping to see the familiar face of her love.

When the third bus left, there was still no sign of her soldier. There wouldn’t be another bus for at least a month, or at least that’s what the operator had told her when she called to inquire about Forsythe Jones, III’s return.

He wasn’t on that bus either. She hadn’t received news of his death, which gave her hope. In the three years, she had made a point to seek out his father, to feel closer to him, to get a glimpse into what their future could be. Surely he’d have told her if he’d known.

FP Jones was sweet to Betty, made sure to look after her. On one of the particularly hard days, when she hadn’t received a letter in far too long, FP disappeared into the back of the trailer, coming back moments later with something in his hands. 

He handed her two pieces of fabric. She was sure the intention was to comfort her, but her tears fell more readily than they ever had before. A flannel shirt, one just like the one FP was wearing and an old t-shirt. They were soft in her hands and she brought them up to her face and continued to cry. They were something else for her to hold on to. 

On cold nights, she’d wrap herself in his flannel, whispering into the darkness her love for him, hoping by some miracle he could hear or feel her words

\--

“Mr. Jones, have you heard when Jug will be coming home?” Betty asked, tears pricking her eyes at the possibility that he would be returning in an urn.

“I know he’s stateside,” FP sighed. The last letter Betty had received was postmarked from Vietnam, she hadn’t known he’d come back.

She let out the breath she hadn’t known she was holding. “He’s okay? Why hasn’t he come home yet?” Her questions shot in rapid succession, words nearly jumbled together.

“He will be soon.” FP leaned in and hugged Betty tight and she wanted more than anything to be in Jughead’s arms, but for now, the elder Jones would have to suffice.

\--

She’d forgotten the sound of his voice long ago. It had been far too long since she’d heard it speak a single word. She tried to piece it back together from memory, the words he’d written to her over the years. What it would be like to hear him say he loves her. She wanted nothing more.

Betty sat in a booth at Pop’s diner, her shift nearly finished when the familiar chime of the bell sounded. It shook her from her thoughts. She turned around slowly, ready to flash her signature smile. She froze in her place, staring at the tall man, dressed in a denim jacket, familiar bright blue eyes staring into hers.

He took a few steps forward. Betty blinked her eyes rapidly, fearing what she was seeing was an illusion.

“Jug?” Her voice was shaky, scared, nervous, everything all at once.

“I told you I’d come home to you,” he said with a smile on his face.

Before her brain could catch up, she was throwing her arms around his neck, holding him tight, afraid he’d disappear. Tears were streaming down her face when she released him, still holding onto his lapels, in fear that he might leave again.

He cupped her cheeks tenderly, looked her in her glistening emerald eyes and took a deep breath. He blinked slowly once, twice, three times, before his lips connected to hers. He threw everything he had into it—his hopes, dreams, fears, joy,  _ love _ .

“I love you, Betty Cooper.” Her heart nearly burst out of her chest. She kissed him again, not a care in the world about who saw.

It was the reunion she had been dreaming of for years.

“I love you,” she whispered against his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love your feedback, friends! Let me know what you thought of this!
> 
> Find me on tumblr: shrugheadjonesthethird (where you can see the graphic that goes along with this fic)
> 
> Love, always.


End file.
